Wuss has just now picked his way carefully through the junk on my desk and is napping curled up with his head on my left wrist as I'm typing. I think he smells the Spider on my hands. He's probably too old to tolerate a Spider here in the apartment.

Interesting to see another unit in this building, though. Same layout as mine, same kitchen, mirrored sliding closet doors, same bathroom, but the living room ceiling is six feet higher, built as if it came to a peak that is nice because there are more windows in the upper part letting in more light. Well, sitting here, looking at my own ceiling, it's more than just the light. Nice to have that extra room, even if it's just over your head, in a world where extra room is less and less prevalent.

It is Saturday morning as I write this, the sun out, the weather report projecting a high in the low eighties, a low humidity Sole Proprietor kind of a day in fact, yet here I sit at the keyboard, Wuss now sleeping out on the balcony. Which is a long way of saying "what am I doing here", the answer to which is "soon I will not". Soon I will get up and connect this new printer to my computer and make a list of things to catch up on after spending a week in school away from my desk. I said I might go to the Renaissance Pleasure Faire tomorrow not believing that I might, even though I know more than a few people who will be there in costume doing whatever they do in costume at the Renaissance Pleasure Faire, except today I'm feeling more positive. Couldn't hurt. I am a photographer. Make up for this day with the printer and cleaning up the kitchen. That guy upstairs. His place looks like he's showing it to prospective buyers, not a God damned piece of furniture out of place, no appliances or knife racks on the kitchen counters. Maybe he doesn't own anything. Or maybe it's just that he doesn't own any junk.